


standing brave on the balls of his feet

by defcontwo



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual Male Character, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 02:46:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1249873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defcontwo/pseuds/defcontwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's got enough things stacked against him. He doesn't need to add another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	standing brave on the balls of his feet

**Author's Note:**

> Because I have a lot of feelings about bisexual Captain America, tally-ho.

It's little things, at first. 

It always starts with the little things. This is the story of his life, after all, writ in blood and stone and history. Little things becoming something greater, something too big to ignore. 

It starts with the line of Bucky's throat as he throws his head back and laughs at a joke that Steve didn't think was nearly as funny as all that when it was coming out of his lips, but Bucky is flushed in the dim moonlight and just loud enough to escape through the thin walls of the orphanage. Steve remembers the sharp rap at the door, a hissed reprimand from one of the nuns, how they had quieted, knocking bony elbows together as Bucky threw him a swift, sideways grin. Steve's fingers had itched for a pencil or some charcoal to get it all down, to press this moment down into paper so he'd never forget it but money didn't come easy in those days, so it stayed in his memory and became a blur, one of many little moments that added up. 

And then there was the boy working as a model in his figure drawing class, a redhead with freckles all over and a wide, easy grin and a gaze that stared a little too intently, a little too long and Steve always felt it when it was on him, even when bent over a piece of paper, blond hair falling into his eyes. 

He never gazed back even though he always wanted to. 

But then there is the curl of Angela Carchetti's hair escaping from her carefully put together pins and the wide, infectious grin of his neighbor's granddaughter and the way the line of a girl's skirt would meet her knees and sway and he never could manage to get the texture to look just right with charcoal and he told himself well maybe it was just an artist's wandering eye, always looking for the next subject. 

Steve's never been very good at lying, not even to himself, but. 

He's got enough things stacked against him. He doesn't need to add another. 

\--- 

Erskine's formula changes everything and it changes nothing. 

He is the same person, in the end, just more. 

\---

Bucky falls and it is like his entire galaxy is ripped apart, stars falling from the sky and the earth torn out from under him. 

Peggy kisses him and the galaxy starts to rebuild itself in the set of her lips and that steel-hard determination that still shines through even as her voice wavers on the tinny radio. 

There's never enough time. 

\--- 

It's a terrible thing, being in love with two different people seventy years too late. 

\--- 

There's an assigned SHIELD operative brought in to teach him about political history, about Nixon and Vietnam and the Iran-Contra Affair and about how Howard helped build the bomb. 

Later, he will ask _aren't the stars and stripes a little old-fashioned_ and he will look down at an uniform that he's not sure he feels right wearing without feeling a little sick to his stomach. 

SHIELD stuck to the basics. They taught him what they thought he needed or wanted to know. 

The trouble is, the only things SHIELD knows about him came out of a file. 

So, nothing much, really. 

\--- 

He buries himself in mission after mission because every time he comes up for air, it's like the grief is going to swallow him whole. 

It's not a good way to live, but. 

Maybe this brave new world he woke up in doesn't have much of a use for Steve Rogers but it sure does have plenty of uses for Captain America. 

\---

Steve has worked four different solo missions with Sitwell and always, he is cool, calm and professional but with Sharon, he is snappy and hawkish and getting on Steve's last nerve. 

Sharon looks like she wants to lunge across the quinjet and rip his eyes out of their sockets. She looks like the only thing keeping her from doing it is the knowledge that Fury'd make her clean up all of the blood. 

"That's enough, Sitwell," Steve cuts in sharply. 

He's not above using what Nat refers to as his Captain America voice, the one that makes spines straighten and salutes snap to attention. He's tired and sore and they've just taken on an entire A.I.M. base between the two of them and the only reason he's even sitting on the plane right now is because Sharon saved his life today. 

Later, after they've debriefed and changed out of their uniforms, Steve catches Sharon's elbow as she's turning a corner. "Hey, what the hell was that?" 

Sharon glares at him and he's long-since stopped looking for the family resemblance -- Sharon has a fire and a steel all her own and right now, she's looking like she could use a couple rounds of wiping someone across the mat or a few good beers and he's not good at this, at talking to people, but she's not all that great at it either so he figures maybe it'll all wash out in the end. 

Sharon tugs her arm loose before stepping back, rolling her shoulders like the very act of it could drain the tension from her body. "You want to grab a drink, Rogers? I'll even let you take me to that hipster bar you like with the microbrews." 

He opens his mouth to point out that that word means something entirely different to him than it does to her but it's always been a lost cause in the face of Sharon and Sam's good natured teasing so he shakes his head, laughing. "All right, let's go." 

\--- 

The bar is a couple of streets over from his Williamsburg apartment, wood-paneled and with a beer list that's longer than he ever would have thought possible when he and Bucky were sharing absolute swill out of a tin can, but all of them are different and interesting and it's nice because he can't get drunk, sure, but it tastes good and he makes a point of trying something new every time.

They settle into a booth, Sharon sinking backwards into the leather and dragging her beer with her. They talk about everything and nothing for an hour, about baseball and the weather and Peggy and they both tell anecdotes about some of Natasha's crazier in-mission stunts that has Steve's side aching with laughter. 

But. 

"Yeah, yeah, all right, you can stop giving me the eagle eye over there, Cap," Sharon says, scrunching her face up at him as she waves to the bartender for another beer. She drains the glass she has, setting it down on the table with a clunk. 

"Sitwell and I dated for a bit, but uh. He found out that Hill and I used to have a thing and got all weird about it, so I broke up with him. He's been an absolute shit to me ever since, one of these days I'm gonna crack him across the jaw and he's gonna deserve every second of it." 

Steve's mouth goes dry. "Maria Hill?" 

Sharon raises an eyebrow, makes a face like something fierce and defiant, gearing up for a fight. "You know another? Hazards of dating while bisexual, I guess. That a problem?" 

Steve shakes his head and it is a small, aborted movement. He feels too small for his size, closes his eyes and sees himself a couple of miles away and so many pounds lighter, rake thin and laughing next to his best friend on a narrow cot and shivering every time their elbows knocked together. 

"No, I, uh," Steve starts, swallowing around a lump in his throat. "I just didn't realize there was a word for it." 

He's got a million questions but none that he knows how to articulate just yet. 

Sharon's gaze softens into something too bright, too understanding but she doesn't say anything, just orders him another beer and changes the subject. She's good about knowing when to push and knowing when to let something go, he knows, it's one of the things he likes best about her. 

They wile away the rest of the night there, nursing their beers mostly in silence. 

Steve's glad for it because he can't think of a single thing to say. 

\--- 

Steve wakes up the next morning in his apartment to find a thick file and a pile of books sitting on his kitchen table. 

There's no note but he knows exactly where they came from. 

Steve putters across the kitchen, makes himself a pot of coffee and an omelet before settling in at the kitchen table, pulling the file over and taking a deep breath before opening it. 

He doesn't leave the apartment for two days straight. 

\--- 

Steve walks into SHIELD HQ on Monday morning and finds Sharon waiting for him, holding out a cup of coffee. There's no mission, not just yet, maybe nothing but a day of kicking each other across the gym but they're in no rush for it. 

Steve takes the coffee with a nodded thanks and carefully doesn't ask how much it cost, knowing that he really doesn't want to. They stand side by side, overlooking the control room. 

"You good?" Sharon asks. 

Steve blows out a breath. It's a complicated question but the answer is easy enough. "Yeah, I'm good." 

"Good," Sharon says, hip checking him lightly, huffing out a warm laugh. "Captain fuckin' America. The shit they don't teach you in the history books." 

Steve rolls his eyes, nudging her back. This has always been the easy part. He probably wouldn't know how to be friends with someone if they took him too seriously. "Thanks, Sharon." 

"Don't get all sappy on me now, Rogers. Just drink your coffee."

"Yes, ma'am." 

\--- 

There is a park near his apartment, now. Seventy years ago, it was a bunch of shops, he thinks, or maybe a crumbling tenement building. 

It's bright green and wide open space and the light hits just right in mid-afternoon, the way the sun casts its shadow across the red-brick buildings across the way. 

He's perched on a park bench, sketchbook open on his lap. 

"Those are pretty good, you know?" A voice comes from above. Steve looks up from his notepad. The voice belongs to a young man, tall and broad with bright red hair and freckles smattered across his nose. Steve's hit by a sharp sense of déjà vu. 

The man holds out his hand. "I'm Jack." 

Steve's still not any good at flirting but he thinks maybe he's willing to give it a try anyways. He takes Jack's hand, warm beneath his own, and smiles his own smile, the real one, the one that you wouldn't find on any war bond poster. "Hey Jack, I'm Steve." 

The sun is bright on his back and there is charcoal smudged all over Steve's fingers but this handsome man doesn't seem to mind, and Steve takes a deep breath as something inside of him settles.


End file.
